


hope and a prayer

by layalittlemuffin



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sex Toys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:08:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28261407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/layalittlemuffin/pseuds/layalittlemuffin
Summary: “I deserve to suffer.”“Sorry to hear American alphas aren’t good enough for your fussy little Russian asshole,” Seryozha says. “Now, stop pouting. Just because you think you need to suffer, doesn’t mean I’m going to suffer through all your drama with you. God knows you’re already insufferable enough on normal days.”Zhenya spends a few more seconds definitely Not pouting, no matter what the sullen purse of his lips might suggest.
Relationships: Sidney Crosby/Evgeni Malkin
Comments: 12
Kudos: 167
Collections: Sid Geno ABO Fest





	hope and a prayer

**Author's Note:**

> I actually had a wildly different plan for this: Sid and Geno from 2006 to now. Grand, dumb misunderstandings over the years. Anna swinging in to save the day.
> 
> But real life happened, so here is just gratuitous omega on omega smut instead. Geno’s first heat in America. Silly boys smitten with each other.

Zhenya is being punished.

That’s the only explanation for this.

This is what happens when you abandon your team, family, and country on a bullheaded chase across the ocean after some selfish childhood dream.

Now he’s injured before his career in the NHL has even begun - a dislocated shoulder from a freak collision with a teammate in a pre-season game that shouldn’t matter. It’s what he deserves.

And, oh, there’s the matter of his heat.

It’s coming, barrelling in off schedule - which never happens. Not to Zhenya. His heats always come like clockwork: twice a year, ushered in by a languorous week of building sensation that would have him begging off post-practice gatherings to race home, greedy to get his hands on himself. He’d spend the week dangling himself like a treat in front of the circle of alpha friends he dips into for a heatmate, riling them up with his scent, watching them squabble over the honour of bedding him.

This time his heat’s welled up out of nowhere. Barely a day away if the steady trickle of slick that’s been glazing his inner thighs all day is anything to go by. He woke up this morning tangled in his sheets, grinding against the mattress, feeling soft and open. Already aching inside with a rawness that tells him this heat will be the sort of furious marathon affair that usually takes him two alphas and his biggest toy.

And here’s Zhenya in Pittsburgh, more alone than he’s ever liked being, in an unfamiliar country where he knows no alphas, has no toys, and is now pretty much down to one forlorn limb.

Zhenya’s resigned himself to a few unsatisfying whirlwind days of fingering himself to hockey highlights, and mewling in mounting desperation into his sheets.

“You can just - pick an alpha up. Put on one of your faded jeans and ugly shirts and bend over a bar somewhere. It’s not the end of the world,” Seryozha tells him after yet another practice Zhenya spends watching from the stands

He’s using that sensible voice that grates on Zhenya when all he wants to do is wallow in Pain and Big Emotion.

The thought of going through his heat with someone completely unfamiliar - some fast-talking stranger who would have to listen to Zhenya fumble his way through English, hear his thick accent and think him dumb, someone who doesn’t even know Zhenya or what a privilege it would be to have him - is unbearable.

“I like the ones I had back home,” says Zhenya, a little sulkily. “And I deserve to suffer.”

“Sorry to hear American alphas aren’t good enough for your fussy little Russian asshole,” Seryozha says, zipping up his jacket while the locker room empties around them. “Now, stop pouting. Just because _you_ think you need to suffer, doesn’t mean I’m going to suffer through all your drama with you. God knows you’re already insufferable enough on normal days.”

Zhenya spends a few more seconds definitely Not pouting, no matter what the sullen purse of his lips might suggest.

When he looks up, Sid is watching him. Zhenya knows Sid can’t possibly have understood a single word that’s been said - the only Russian he’s picked up are a few choice curse words he butchers every time - but sometimes, it feels like trivial human constructs like language would never stand a chance against Sid’s iron will.

Sid tosses a balled up snarl of tape into the bin, then waddles on socked feet towards Zhenya.

“Hey. Your heat’s coming,” Sid says. “If you want, I can help.”

Simple enough sentences made of words Zhenya is familiar enough with to piece together without any help. Somehow, they still don’t seem to make sense. All he can do is gape at Sid. The NHL’s most famous omega wants to spend Zhenya’s heat with him?

Zhenya turns to Seryozha, who’s fussing at his shoelaces but very clearly listening in with unholy glee.

“Is he saying what I think he’s saying?”

“Well, you did say you didn’t want some strange American alpha. Sid’s just… a strange Canadian omega. No issues there then,” Seryozha shrugs. “Here’s the chance for you to work that crush I can see from outer space out of your system.”

Sid sidles up to them a little more and ends up doing a little cross-armed lean against Zhenya’s stall, a play at casualness so dorky in its deliberateness that Zhenya despairs at how appealing he finds it. He watches Sid take a deep breath, steeling himself a little, then mumble out a quick succession of words. His ears are turning red, a splotchy blush working its way down his cheeks now.

“What? What’s he saying now?”

“He says he can take care of you. Bring food. His toy collection. Knows what feels good. But he doesn’t want you to feel pressured to say yes.”

Zhenya’s always found Sid bafflingly sexy, crusty jock and all.

Beautiful hockey. A strong, sturdy body engineered for sports, with a plushness to it that just screams sex. An ass Zhenya wants to eat out and eat off. Red lips in a crooked smile that makes Zhenya want to sit on his face.

But that’s always sat along comfortably with the assumption that Sid was, well, sexless. So devoted to the pursuit of perfection on ice that everything else is an inconvenience. Most times, he just seems so self-contained, a strange little universe with its own set of rules that needs no one’s approval.

Sid’s been the star of some of Zhenya’s idle fantasies for a while now, but Zhenya's never dared to think of him as a realistic option. Just something for Zhenya to admire from afar, like a portrait in a museum: Man in Nasty Jockstrap, colourised.

But here he is now, offering himself up as a heat partner. Talking about bringing along his stash of sex toys.

Sid must take Zhenya’s look of utter confusion as rejection. His shoulders start inching up towards his ears, his mouth setting into that stiff little line he marches out for the media.

“I mean, you don’t have to, if you don’t want to. I just thought- you’re alone. And I know how hard it can be somewhere new. I know how much it sucks, how miserable it is going through heat all by yourself. Did that once - never again. I mean, I just wanted you to know I can help. I’d love to help. You’re just so-” he trails off, letting out a long, shaky breath instead.

The blush is absolutely out of control now.

“God, Zhenya. Please. Put the boy out of his misery,” Seryozha mutters.

Zhenya gets up, puts a hand on Sid’s shoulder before the he can spontaneously combust. It has the unintended effect of turning Sid glassy-eyed. He watches Zhenya unfold his long body from the stall, traces the line of his body up and up and up, tips his head up for a deep inhale. Lick his lips.

“Sid - wait. Yes. You help. Yes.”

“Oh okay. That’s cool. I mean, that’s good. I mean, I’m honoured. I’ll take such good care of you. You won’t regret it. I’ll get a few things ready, and come tomorrow, eh?” Sid walks backwards to shoulder his bag, does an awkward little hat tip, touching two fingers to his cap - still clean, blissfully unaware of its grotty fate - in salute. Walks out leaving Zhenya reeling from the turn of events.

Just minutes ago he was convinced the universe was out to get him. Now, he’s going to have sex with Sidney Crosby.

“Well,” says Seryozha. “Get ready for a ride on the Sidney Crosby welcome wagon, I guess.”

*

Zhenya frets all night.

They don’t even speak the same language! He didn’t even know Sid was, like, a sexual being!

Seryozha laughs.

“Sid gets around, Zhenya. He has a boy on call in every team or something - watch when he disappears on trips. He’s always, ‘Oh, I can’t go out to dinner with you guys. You’d get mobbed. I’d be an inconvenience’. Then Colby goes back to their room early one night and finds him fooling around with Weber. We didn’t hear the end of that for months. ‘Boo hoo. I walked in on Hockey Jesus with a cock up his ass, do you know how traumatised I am?’ Sid’s as nasty as any teenage boy. And you’re not going to be _debating_. It’s sex. How many words do you need? Yes, no, stop, fuck, harder, faster. What else is there?”

Seryozha spends the rest of the night teasing Zhenya, but after bundling Ksenia and Natalie into the car the next morning, tells him, serious: “I know you’re lonely here, Zhenya. Sid’s a good guy. See how things work out.”

Sid turns up at Gonch’s front door with his hair wet from a shower, curls plastered to his forehead and the sides of his soft face. He’s carrying bags of groceries in one hand, a giant pack of Reese’s poking out the top of one. In his other hand is a black bag so pointedly nondescript it might as well scream “Sex toys inside!”

He looks like a man on a mission. He’s here to take care of Zhenya, and take him apart. And he’s taking both tasks _very seriously, thank you very much._ Zhenya feels the same thrill that goes through him every time he watches Sid on the ice, intent on victory.

He’d usually take the time to chirp Sid, just to see him squirm and glow pink with pleasure. But he’s already halfway gone: heat-drunk and desperate. He’d spent the past hour prowling around the house, clinging to the last shreds of his self control, half-afraid Sid wouldn’t show, that he’d offered just to be polite, and regretted it once he left the locker room.

Usually Zhenya would be four fingers deep in himself already, laid out in bed, putting on a show to welcome his heatmate. But Sid’s, like, Canadian. Would that be too slutty for a proper omega from Cole Harbour, Nova Scotia? Zhenya wasn’t going to take any chances.

And now that Sid’s finally here to help him through his heat - Sidney Crosby with his darks curls and red lips moving fast and mesmerising in a speech Zhenya can’t even bother to parse through his lust (“heyit’smesidiboughtyoulotsoffoodialwaysgetrealhungryduringheatonetimeiatelikeeightpancakesandthenfourwafflesandthenihadsomeicecreambutanywaythere’ssomejunkfoodigotsomepeanutbuttercupsformyselfbutyoucanhavethemtooandohyeahsomeproperfoodiguesstokeepyourenergyuplotsofwaterandgatoradetokeepyouhydratedandthere’sabunchofmytoyswecangivethemagoandseewhichyoulikeacoupleofthemaremyfavouriteandiguesssomearealittlebigbut”) - Zhenya’s going to drag him to bed and never let him out.

He shuts Sid up mid-ramble, clamping a hand down on the back of his neck and dragging their mouths together, knocking his bags to the ground. Thuds and the ominous sound of breaking glass - Zhenya thinks he broke a jar of pickles and probably pulverises a box of pancake mix under his feet, and he prays Sid’s chocolates survives unscathed.

But it’s hard to really care when confronted with the luxurious heat of Sid’s mouth. Those lips, relentlessly plush. The inside of his mouth scorching and silken when Zhenya slips his tongue in for a taste. It’s a hot, humid thrill that brings all the desire that’s been brewing beneath Zhenya’s skin into sharp focus, an electric pang that lances straight through him and send his hips jolting clumsily forward.

Zhenya’s briefs are already wrecked. He’s been dripping all morning from sheer anticipation: hole ravenous for touch, cock blurting fat drops of pre-come, working himself into a frenzy over the promise of Sid’s body. The strength of his shoulders and thighs. The fat cock he parades shamelessly around the locker room, balls swinging heavily between his bow legs. His clever hands and pretty mouth.

And now he’s undone just by this - this simple kiss, the way their noses bump together and Sid’s eyelashes brush against his, how he can feel Sid’s trembling breaths and share his own, the small intimacies a sweet torture that drives Zhenya wild.

He likes that best about relationships, about sex: the human contact, the closeness he feels so parched for now, half a world away from the people he knows and loves. Here in Pittsburgh, where he’s only just beginning to piece a social life together, he feels hollow and unmoored sometimes, hungry for connection, desperate for someone to understand him.

Zhenya’s always been good at pretending at exuberance, making himself big, loud. But sometimes he feels so agonisingly small, inconsequential and desperate to be seen. Loneliness has always been his biggest fear. He was willing to risk that - the possibility of never, ever fitting in, of always feeling like an outsider, grasping for words and companionship and never finding them - for a chance at the NHL, where he deserves to be, playing among the best. Playing with Sid.

Sid, who’s kissing Zhenya like he’s awestruck, strong hands cupping Zhenya’s face. Zhenya hears himself whine, feels himself thrust once, twice, his cock an agonising throb as it spits come into the mess of his pants. He’s overcome by a wave of pleasure so violent his back locks up and his ass clenches, mind a static fuzz.

When the buzz in his brain dies down, Sid’s pulling back, parting their mouths with a wet smack, a line of spit trying its absolute best to keep the both of them connected before it snaps.

“Wow,” Sid says, rubbing a finger over Zhenya’s cheekbone gently. “You really needed that, huh, G? Sorry I made you wait. I just really wanted to make sure I got everything we needed. Let me put the groceries away, then I’ll take care of you.”

There’s no way Zhenya’s catching all of Sid’s rambling. But right now the only word that matters is ‘wait’. Zhenya doesn’t want to wait. He makes a discontented noise that Sid soothes with a brush of his lips.

“Go on,” he says with a soft smack to Zhenya’s ass. It turns into an appreciative caress, Sid cupping a cheek, pressing a thumb to where Zhenya’s trousers are drenched and clinging, sending sparks skittering down Zhenya’s spine. “Jeez, G, you’re soaked. Take your pants off and wait for me upstairs, okay?”

He mimes climbing the stairs, marching two fingers up and down in the air.

Zhenya pouts all the way to his room. He can hear cabinet doors opening and closing as he shimmies out of his sweatpants, then drops his briefs in a wet thump. His thighs are tacky. His body feels feverish - raw and overheated, one long, exposed nerve sparking with sensation. Slithering onto the bed, he rubs himself against cool sheets, trying to ground himself, then gives up and lets a hand drift down his body.

His cock is already stiffening, head red against his pale belly. He plays with it for a while, gets his fingers sticky. Teases himself until he feels himself go mindless again, hips punching up dumbly into the circle of his fist, head tossing back and forth. He lets his hand graze his thighs, then reach between them.

The touch of a fingertip to his hole is almost too much. It’s sloppy with slick, the rim soft and greedy. If Sid were here between Zhenya’s thighs like he was meant to be, he’d sink right inside - all the way, deep - with just one thrust. He wouldn’t even need those giant thighs to fuck his way into Zhenya. Zhenya would open for him so sweetly.

But Sid’s still fucking around in the kitchen. There’s the sound of the fridge door opening. God help him, if Sid is whispering sweet nothings to his precious chocolate instead of storming up here to _fuck Zhenya-_

“Sid! Not wait!” Zhenya yells, slamming a clenched fist into one of the pillows. “I’m go Russia. Find alpha for fuck me good!”

The fridge door closes. Then comes a flurry of heavy footsteps up the stairs - Sid taking two at a time in his hurry. Zhenya hides a smug grin into his shoulder, his insides lighting up at the thought of the face of the NHL at his beck and call, desperate to please. His favourite thing about heat is how powerful it makes him feel.

Sid shows up in the doorway with his black Sex Bag, an armful of Gatorade bottles, and a sheepish smile.

“Sorry, I just wanted to, you know, make sure everything was perfect,” says Sidney Crosby, Apparent Sex Perfectionist.

Zhenya groans, lazily thumbing his hole, half for the filthy feeling of it, half to see Sid’s eyes go dark. “Sex, Sid. Sex not perfect.”

Sid makes his way over, setting his bag and army of bottles down on the bedside table. Zhenya rolls onto his stomach, craning his neck to watch as Sid rummages through it, pulling out a series of pouches. When he unzips them, Zhenya crows in delight.

“Jee-zus, Sid!”

It’s a staggering array of sex toys organised into different pouches by some Crosbyian index Zhenya can’t figure out. Dildos, artificial bulbs, plugs, cock rings, rods and chains, bits and baubles Zhenya has never seen in his life. Metal, glass, silicone. Zhenya wants to try them all.

They’re all in unadventurous shades of black and brown (Zhenya thinks wistfully of his favourite toy, a big, bumpy neon green monstrosity that had horrified and impressed each and everyone of his heatmates). It’s amazing how Sid’s prodigious stash of sex toys is both a deeply shocking revelation and a deeply unsurprising testament to his character.

Sid ducks his head, mumbling into the folds of his chin. “I brought them all… I didn’t know which ones you’d like.”

Then he looks up, pinning Zhenya with a smirk and a heavy-lidded gaze. “But by the end of your heat, I’ll know exactly what you like.”

It steals Zhenya’s breath away every time Sid gets cocky out on the rink. It’s no less devastating in bed. Zhenya feels his cock twitch, and tries to gather his wits about him. This is his heat. His show. Sid must never know how easily he undoes Zhenya. 

Though judging by the starry-eyed look on Sid’s face - the way his eyes can’t stop roving the length of Zhenya’s body, can’t decide whether he wants to admire the chapped, bubblegum pink curve of Zhenya’s lips, or the soft patch of hair on Zhenya’s chest, or his slim, endless legs, bare except for a pair of tiny white socks to keep his toes warm - they’re probably the both of them on equal footing here.

“No toy now. Wet. Need you _now._ ”

Someone brought Sid up right, and it’s killing Zhenya. No matter how much Zhenya whines, Sid refuses to dispense with the pleasantries. He lowers that thick body over Zhenya, and works him up with his sweet, fat mouth, gifting Zhenya deep, probing kisses that leave him listing forward helplessly every time Sid draws back.

Then having thoroughly availed himself of Zhenya’s mouth, leaving it a red, throbbing bruise, he brushes Zhenya’s sweaty hair back from his forehead and skims kisses down his neck, the tender bumps of his chest. Slides two fingers through the slick Zhenya’s gotten all over his thighs, then up inside the clench of him, where Zheyna’s tender and aching, ready for use. Hungry for it.

It’s torture, having Sid right there where he’s been craving him - but just the barest taste of him. Just Sid’s two clever fingers working through the mess of him, stretching and stroking, summoning up sounds so loud and wet it sends a rush of shame through Zhenya’s body.

“Now! Do before I’m die, Sid. I’m want so much. I’m-” He’s had enough of trying to string together the English words he knows. Spits out commands and threats in Russian instead, then lets his body the rest of the talking, pulling his knees up to his chest, baring his hole, pink and shiny.

Sid’s thumps his forehead down onto Zhenya’s collarbone and groans. “You’re so- God, G. You’re so sexy. Yeah, yeah. I got you. Hold on, bud. You ready? Your shoulder okay?”

He tugs at Zhenya’s thighs, getting them around his stocky hips, hooking one over his shoulder, and planting a soft kiss on the inside of Zhenya’s knee. Zhenya’s entire body is thrumming with need, his breath rattling out in wheezing gasps from how desperately he wants it.

And then- then, he feels Sid’s cock - the dirty kiss of it at his hole - and Sid’s sliding all the way in with dreamy ease, all the way to the root, stuffing him deep. Zhenya’s back arches off the bed at the feeling: going from that horrid, burning emptiness to this, stretched and writhing around Sid’s cock.

It’s built like the rest of him: thick, compact, unrelenting. To be wielded for some great purpose it will no doubt accomplish with terrifying perfection.

That’s to fuck Zhenya just right, Zhenya decides.

Sid folds Zhenya easily into half. Works his hips in slow circles, exploring Zhenya’s body with a casual sense of entitlement, brow creased in concentration as he watches Zhenya’s face for the smallest shift in expression. Then - quicker than any of Zhenya’s previous heatmates have, all of them dumb, bumbling alphas, drunk and clumsy on his pheromones - Sid catches him just so, in a spot that sends his eyes shooting open, his good hand reaching up to grab on to the headboard.

“Got it,” Sid says, smug, drawing his hips back with devastating purpose. 

This is probably how the puck feels on ice with Sidney Crosby. Seen. Conquered.

The sheer strength in Sid’s lower body lifts Zhenya’s hips off the bed on every other stroke. Zhenya feels like he’s too big for his skin, the pleasure building in him too much to contain. Sid’s about to shatter him into a million pieces.

Just this would be enough: the precise, calculated drag of Sid’s cock inside him, torturing that little nub inside him and teasing cries out of Zhenya. But Zhenya wants just a bit more - a knot, a few more fingers stuffed alongside Sid’s dick, so full he treads the edge of pain.

Sid reads him as well in bed as he has on ice, the painfully few times they’ve skated together before Zhenya got injured. Zhenya hopes there’s more of that ahead, hopes they’ll play together forever. With Sid, it feels like anything is possible, like Zhenya has a chance at the Cup every year.

“I got you,” Sid tells him.

There’s a bit of fumbling. Zhenya feels Sid’s knuckles brush his thighs with every jolt of Sid’s hips back. A pause - and then Sid’s driving forward again, pressing into him with that perfect cock - and then, there - a blunt pressure at his rim, bullying its way inside him, Zhenya’s body twisting against it.

“There you go. Shh, I’ve got you. Come, G. You’ve been so good for me.”

Zhenya breaks. He presses his face into the crook of his elbow, scream catching in the back of his throat, pleasure a hook yanking mercilessly through his body. Feels his muscles cramp as his hips jerk, as he comes, making a mess of his stomach, a release so sweet it leaves his thighs trembling, his face wet with drool.

Sid groans, rocking shallowly, stirring Zhenya up inside, the head of his fat cock a cruel drag, his fake knot tugging deliciously at Zhenya’s rim.

Zhenya gathers him close, strokes a hand through the drying fluff of Sid’s hair, tousled with hectic pleasure, urging him on until Sid’s mouth drops open and his hips still.

And oh - Zhenya has never felt this before. A spreading heat inside him, the hot splashes of Sid’s come branding him, burning him from the inside out. He’s never had an alpha come inside him bare. Never wanted to take the chance, even with his pills.

And now here’s the rude, ruinous shock of Sid’s come inside him - a feeling he’ll never forget. Zhenya’s body goes liquid, a deep contentment coursing through him.

Sid noses at his hairline, whispering praises like a gentleman, then slides down to press a kiss, then his forehead against Zhenya’s neck, while Zhenya lies there, wrecked.

*

Zhenya fails in his ambitious plan to try every single one of Sid’s toys out. They do make some progress: impossibly-shaped toys made of silicon and glass, a procession of anal beads, a vibrating egg that makes Zhenya bite at his own wrist before Sid tugs it away and offers up his shoulder instead. The double-headed dildo is a revelation.

But Zhenya’s addicted to how he feels when he’s crammed full of Sid’s cock, to the feel of Sid’s thighs moving between his, the way his body feels over Zhenya. How he looks at Zhenya when he’s inside him: rapt, tender, overwhelmed by the pleasure of Zhenya’s body. And nothing - absolutely nothing - beats the sense of smug accomplishment that rushes through Zhenya when he gets Sid to come inside him, hips jerking, face crumpling, filling Zhenya to the brim. He’s never felt this used, this crazy with pleasure.

Zhenya drifts in and out of the haze of heat, moments of sheer sensation punctuated by flashes of clarity.

Sid’s face, glowing, as he thumbs at Zhenya’s hole, murmuring things Zhenya can’t make sense of, in a tone so honeyed it makes his body hum with pride: “God, Geno. You have the sweetest, tightest hole. Look at you. Can’t believe you let me-”

Sid yapping away between Zhenya’s thighs, chin messy with come and slick.

“Do you like it better when I lick like this? Up and down? Or the other way? or maybe it’s better if I-”

“Like you shut up and _do_ ,” Zhenya grumbles, squeezing his thighs tighter around the little menace to spur him back into action.

Sid sitting up against the headboard with a crinkle in his brow, unwrapping one of his chocolates with deadly focus. He looks across the bed to see Zhenya peering blearily up at him and smiles. Pops the little chocolate cup in his own mouth, then reaches over to kiss Zhenya’s.

His heat is almost breaking when Sid rolls over in bed their second night together to prop his head up on his hand. His cheeks are sleep-creased, his hair a wild little nest. His mouth swollen, abused.

“Hey. Wanna try something else?”

He reaches into his dorky little Sex Bag. Then he’s putting Zhenya on his back, gentling him - like Zhenya is something for him to break in with sweet words and sweeter kisses - and kneewalking down the mattress a little to straddle Zhenya’s hips.

There’s a pop - a cap coming off something? Zhenya can’t tell. A series of wet, sucking noises, hitched breaths. A low moan that crests and breaks. Zhenya sees Sid’s thighs straining, reaches out a hand to feel the muscles work.

The world’s going hazy with pleasure again, the next wave already hitting. Zhenya’s out of his mind, his body burning up. He squirms against the cradle of Sid’s thighs.

“Shh, almost there. Just a little more.”

There’s a sticky hand on Zhenya’s cock now, strong and sure. It jerks him off a few times, that off-rhythm cockscrewing motion Sid’s learned he loves, thumb swiping lightly, maddening, over the head.

Then - velvet heat. Unrelenting pressure. Zhenya keens.

“I- Sid,” he gasps out, hips rabbiting up, trying to get more.

“Here we go- Ah! B-big. Fuck, G.”

Even in sex, Sid is a study in athleticism. His body explosive, coiled with power. He moves his hips in vicious rolls, milking Zhenya with muscular clenches, strong thighs lifting him up and down Zhenya’s cock easily. He’s so hot inside Zhenya has to be melting.

Zhenya marvels at the fact that he ever thought of Sid as sexless. He’s nothing if not built for sex.

And that’s Zhenya’s dick that’s shocking frantic noises out of Sid. Sid’s head falls back in shameless enjoyment. His gold chain catches the light. Each bounce sends that little 87 flying, bumping up against his collarbones. It makes a burst of possessiveness swell up in Zhenya’s chest. He grabs Sid by the back of his neck, drags him down to devour his mouth, gorge himself on Sid’s cries.

Zhenya’s felt it inside, the way Sid’s cock jerks with each long, hot pulse when he comes. Sid’s a horrible overachiever even in this. He comes so much that every time he tugs his fake knot out, Zhenya feels a hot liquid rush down his thighs - a sensation so lewd it embarrasses Zhenya just enough to make him beg for it.

Now, with Sid bouncing in his lap, exposed, unravelling, a blush working its way down his chest, past his puffy little nipples, Zhenya trails a finger down Sid’s cock. It’s a drooling mess already, slapping against Sid’s belly and leaving it glistening. 

A particularly dirty swivel and clench drags a screaming orgasm out of Zhenya. Fuck, Sid’s taking everything from him, still working Zhenya in the greedy clutch of him, coaxing load after load of seed out of Zhenya. When this ends, there’ll be nothing left. He’s going to drain Zhenya completely. Leave Zhenya empty, hungry for him. Nobody else will be good enough.

Sid makes a little broken “ah”. His hips stutter, no longer punishing Zhenya’s sensitised cock with those long, sure rolls. He’s close now. Zhenya feels shaking fingers around the base of his cock, feels two of them wiggle their way inside Sid, slide home inside that hot, cramped space which surely, surely shouldn’t be able to take any more.

A click and a buzz. Zhenya yells at the feel of something slipsliding near his cock, an insistent vibration.

“Just a bit more, yeah, Geno? I’m almost there. Please. Please let me. Can I?”

Zhenya wants to give Sid the world. He’s crying, throat choked up, the sensation too much, too soon. Still, he nods. Lets Sid take his fingers out, slide the slim, buzzing pill inside instead, next to Zhenya’s sore cock.

It’s exquisite agony to be caught inside Sid with nowhere to go, nothing more to give, the vibrations forcing a rush of sensation inside of him, pushing him to terrifying heights. Zhenya’s letting out hurt little noises, quaking - not wanting this, wanting this too much, wanting to give Sid everything he can, needing to make it perfect for him.

His body seizes in a parody of an orgasm. Surely it can’t be that, when Sid’s already sucked him dry with that greedy hole of is. But it feels like it, like he’s hurtling off a cliff, his chest rising and falling, balls uselessly clenching. Coming dry.

“Shit, you love it so much, Geno. I’m gonna- Gonna come. Ah!”

Zhenya tries desperately to will his eyelids open so he can watch Sid make a mess of the both of them. Sid shouts. His cock flexes as he shoots fat wads of come all the way up Zhenya’s chest. It feels like it goes on forever. Sid’s still rocking on his dick, short tugs. Each uneven punch of his hips forward sends another hot splatter of come Zhenya’s way. A last jerk of his cock gets Sid on the corner of his mouth.

Sid lets out a small, contented purr, arching his back in a shiver of pleasure. Turns off his dastardly little toy. Clambers off Zhenya’s cock with a wince and collapses next to him, rubbing his nose under Zhenya’s chin, getting his own chest sticky with come.

“You creamed me so good, Geno,” he says, dreamily, playing with the mess he’s left on Zhenya's chest.

Zhenya smirks. “I’m best.”

“Yeah,” Sid agrees, immediately, his sincerity like a beacon.

Zhenya can’t resist rolling him over, boxing him in for a kiss. Sid tastes obscene, like come and slick, his lips a ripe mess. Zhenya makes a face at the flavour. It makes Sid burst into breathless giggles, and that’s all the encouragement Zhenya needs to get a little silly with him, to pepper wet, smacking kisses down his face and neck, to knock their noses together.

Sid learned how to take Zhenya apart in record time, like some sort of demented sex prodigy. 

Now, with his heat down to its last burning embers, Zhenya has the time and presence of mind to explore Sid’s body, learn what he likes and reward him in return.

Pinch his nipples and he makes the prettiest sounds. Writhes and pleads with Zhenya to stop, but keeps pulling his hand back, chest arching off the bed, asking wordlessly for more.

Crooning “Sidney, Sidney” in his ear has him blushing all the way down to his belly. Makes his toes curl and thighs clamp around Zhenya’s waist, tight enough to bruise.

Zhenya’s always liked feeling spoiled in bed. He’s a pest about his own pleasure. It’s his due. If he gives someone free rein over his body, he’s entitled to pleasure - and he'd better be getting it. God have mercy on his bed partner if they don’t deliver.

Sid, though. Sid treats his pleasure like he does so many things in life: a challenge to be won, a prize for a job well done.

“It feels better when you work hard for it. When you deserve it,” he rasps out, after Zhenya’s edged him to tears. His eyelashes are still spiky with them.

He’d asked Zhenya to put a cockring on him. Let Zhenya be a little mean with him, bully him to the brink again and again.

Once, in the heat of Zhenya’s mouth. Zhenya had taken him deep, deep, letting the head of Sid’s cock bump up against the back of his throat. Nursed him so good.

He’d dived into Sid’s stash for a bit, torturing him with an unforgiving glass dildo that lets Zhenya see just how pretty he is inside, unbelievably pink and still wet with the remnants of Zhenya’s seed.

Then a cold metal rod that went down the slit of Sid’s dick and had him fisting the sheets and wailing.

Zhenya had been deliberating between a vibrating egg and a fleshlight - maybe both - but Sid had lifted his wet face up for a kiss then, and begged so sweetly for Zhenya’s cock that he’d crumbled.

Sid let Zhenya put him first on his hands and knees, his powerful back a sight to behold. His fat ass a dream, jiggling with every smack of Zhenya’s hips. He kept dragging the edge of the pillowcase into his mouth to muffle his cries, so Zhenya flipped him over, pinned both of Sid’s wrists to the headboard with his good hand. Sid could have easily shaken him off. He didn’t, letting Zhenya have his fill of him.

Zhenya fucked him to the edge of orgasm again like that, watching Sid’s face, red from exertion, tears beading in his lashes, the muscles of his stomach rippling as he thrashed, thighs straining. Body labouring for a climax Sid felt he didn’t yet deserve.

Later, after Zhenya had fed him one of his fake knots, after Sid had finally gone off like a supernova, then spent a few minutes trembling and insensate, twitchy around him with aftershocks, they lie curled up on their sides in the ruins of Zhenya’s sheets, face to face, just watching each other. Basking in each other.

Sid’s still baby-faced, still round in the cheeks. At certain angles, his soft little chin disappears. Zhenya can’t get enough of him. Sid rubs one of Zhenya’s stray curls between his fingers, then presses his thumb to Zhenya’s lower lip, tracing the curve. Zhenya can't resist kissing the pad of it.

“I’m glad you’re here,” Sid says. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

Zhenya stares. He closes the bare inches of space between them for a kiss, hopes Sid can tell how much these past few days, that declaration, meant to him.

There’s so much Zhenya wants to say, but it feels impossible to put it all into words. 

He wants to tell Sid how Zhenya hasn’t stopped thinking of him since he was 15, since Gennady first told him all about a hockey prodigy from halfway around the world. How he’d devoured Sid’s highlights, begged his agent to get him more. The way watching the Penguins pick Sid the year after Zhenya knocked the breath from his chest, got his heart racing.

It’s dumb to entertain the thought that the universe brought them together for some greater purpose, like Zhenya so often does.

But Zhenya’s always been a romantic and a dreamer. He’s no stranger to surging ahead on nothing but hope and a prayer. Things have worked out for him so far. Maybe his luck hasn’t run out.

With Sid’s eyes soft on him right now, his hand reaching out to twine his fingers tentatively with Zhenya’s, it feels like they’re on the edge of something huge. Like Zhenya’s in Finland all over again, on the brink of flight, unsure if everything would come crashing down around him.

Before he’d come to America, Zhenya wondered if he and Sid would clash. He'd always be stuck in Sid's shadow. Would he feel disgruntled playing second fiddle? Would Sid feel threatened by his presence? Lash out at him and keep him at arm’s length?

But from the first moment they met - that dinner at Mario’s, with Zhenya’s body still buzzing with adrenaline and disbelief - Sid’s been sweet, attentive. 

A month of Sid messaging him all the time - conversations that takes hours because it takes Sid so long to peck a few words out in his ancient mobile. Sid offering to take him out around town - ice-cream, heaping piles of pancakes and waffles, purportedly to show Zhenya what's best, but more likely just to indulge his incorrigible sweet tooth.

Watching Sid lose his shit every single time Zhenya beats him at Mario Kart, flinging the controller away in anger and cursing up a storm. Zhenya wonders if Sid will ever get better at losing to him. He’d better.

How Sid gets giddy around Zhenya in ways that make his heart swell in his chest: deep-bellied laughter at Zhenya’s attempts at halting jokes, breathless praise every time Zhenya hits the ice.

His heat will be over by morning. Sid will probably take that as his cue to go.

Zhenya doesn’t want him to leave. Maybe it’s his sex-addled adolescent brain speaking right now, elevating a heat-drunk romp into a grand romance.

But they fit so well together - in bed, undoubtedly. But also on ice, where Sid’s inspiration and competition, everything Zhenya needs. Everywhere else, they get along so well it shocks both teammates and media bracing for tension. Surely there's a reason why their stars aligned.

“I came here for the NHL. But I came here to play with you, too,” he wants to tell Sid.

What he says is: “Stay.”

He can tell Sid the rest of it later. They’ll grow up together here. Maybe they’ll grow old together. They have their whole lives ahead of them. 


End file.
